Crescendo
by The Sith Virtuoso
Summary: For Darth Plagueis it was a tragedy, but what was it for Darth Sidious? An inside look on that fateful day when Palpatine decided to recount a certain tale to a troubled young Jedi. One-shot. Complete.


**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Enjoy and reviews are most appreciated! - SV**

 **Story based from and some lines lifted from the Revenge of the Sith film, Matthew Stover's novelization of the same, and James Luceno's** _ **Darth Plagueis**_ **.**

 **All characters property of LucasArts and Disney.**

* * *

 **CRESCENDO**

 _"Beings may elect their leaders, but the Force has elected_ us." - Darth Plagueis

* * *

Few sentients had the power or wealth to own a private box in the galaxy's most exclusive and opulent opera house.

Being Supreme Chancellor and the last living heir to an ancient noble house on his home planet, Palpatine of Naboo had _both_ at his disposal.

But His Excellency was so much more.

The achievements and deeds he has done for the galaxy pale in comparison, in his opinion, to his _true_ calling.

He was a Dark Lord of the Sith.

 _The_ Dark Lord of the Sith.

Darth Sidious, the last remaining member of the lineage that had begun with Darth Bane a millennium before.

The scintillating, refracted lights from the anti-grav engines used in the Mon Calamari production he was watching then threw a kaleidoscopic spectacle throughout the vast theatre.

He enjoyed it.

One of the few things he truly enjoyed in his life was art.

It was _pure_ expression.

In many ways, he considered _himself_ an artist as well.

One who worked the _only_ medium that mattered.

The Force itself.

He could feel it in every fiber of his very being.

His masterpiece.

The Grand Plan—a production _centuries_ in the making—his to mold, to direct, and to _perfect_.

And everything has been proceeding as he had foreseen.

"Chancellor...I'm sorry I'm late," said a familiar voice from behind.

 _Ah, my friend...you are but right on time._

He fixed the face he showed to the world into the grandfatherly smile that had become trusted by countless trillions.

"You wanted to see me, Chancellor?" and out of the corner of his eye came the tall, lean form of Anakin Skywalker.

He could feel a veritable maelstrom of emotions behind the younger man's practiced look of Jedi inscrutability.

Apprehension, anger, weariness and fear—all boiling in concert within arguably the most powerful Force-sensitive individual in history.

 _Good._

"Yes, Anakin," Palpatine smiled, "Come closer, I have good news."

The younger man fell to one knee on the side of his seat and leaned in to hear such news.

 _Very good._

He regarded the Jedi, "Our clone intelligence units have discovered the location of General Grievous. He is hiding, within the Utapau system."

A determined smile became visible on Anakin Skywalker's face, "At last, we'll be able to catch that monster and end this war."

 _You play your part so splendidly, dear boy,_ the Sith Lord thought fondly, as if toying with a puppet on strings.

So he played along and appealed to his puppet's desire.

"I would worry about the collective wisdom of the Council, they didn't select you for this assignment..."

The puppet's lips pursed, the smile was gone and the storm of emotions within him crackled with even more power.

How pathetic it was then, that the puppet's face was almost pleading in its countenance.

Palpatine tugged at the puppet's strings, leaning closer to him with that trusted smile, "You're the best choice...by far."

The young Jedi fell silent, and the Sith Lord felt the tumult of emotions boil further in frustration.

He decided to take it a step further with a little revelation that might just send this young Jedi; this impossibly _powerful_ individual hurtling forever under his whim.

The Chancellor invited Anakin Skywalker to have a seat beside him and ordered the rest of his entourage to leave.

As Anakin Skywalker strode to the seat on his left, Chancellor Palpatine appeared to be enjoying the show.

He was watching indeed; but what he was watching then was a performance only _he_ could see.

An opera of one for an audience of one.

Did he realize that he might one day meet such an individual? That he might meet the likely fruit of his and _his_ own Master's machinations decades before?

Perhaps not.

But he was a Sith.

The past was a distraction and the present is but an illusion.

Only the future held meaning...and what a future it was.

Within that theatre box Lord Sidious knew he held the fate of the entire galaxy in the palm of his hand.

While he was never just an audience in that two-man show, he was less a performer than he was its _author_.

A masterpiece was to be played in the realm of the Force, the grandest of stages.

 _Now we shall see..._

"Anakin," he said slowly, "you know I am not able to rely on the Jedi Council."

The Jedi Knight turned his head to him as he continued with slight imperiousness.

"If they haven't included you in their plot, listen well..."

"I'm not sure I understand," the puppet mumbled, turning his head away seemingly to regard the second act.

"You must sense what I've come to suspect...the Jedi Council wants control of the Republic," Palpatine said almost blithely.

His younger companion silent in barely contained uncertainty, he decided to continue in that almost conversational tone, "they are planning to betray me."

"I don't think—"

"Anakin..." the Sith Lord interrupted imploringly, "search your feelings, you _know_...don't you?"

He looked across to the other side, into the blue eyes of Anakin Skywalker, an honest expression of pained pleas on his face.

"I know they don't trust you," the young Jedi said after a moment's pause.

Just then the ballet threw fresh slivers of color across the theatre while ambient lights dimmed to further their emphasis.

He took no heed of that display. The _real_ performance was there, in that box. He was so deeply enmeshed in the Force that space and time held no more meaning to him.

He was not just a vessel of the Force in that moment; he _was_ the Force.

He was the dancing lights, the music from alien instruments and the singing voices of the chorus below.

He was the crystalline molecular make of the permacrete and durasteel opera house and the perpetual dance of the subatomic particles that comprised them.

He was every cell, every thought, and every heartbeat in every sentient within that theatre and beyond.

He was Anakin Skywalker himself.

 _That_ kind of focus was required in order to make _his_ performance a success.

It was also testament enough to his power and talent that none of the fools, even the incomparably powerful one who sat on the chair beside him, could even perceive his influence.

So he continued the charade with a resigned nod, "Or the Senate. Or the Republic. Or democracy for that matter..."

Without looking at him, Anakin Skywalker allowed—however unwittingly—part of his restraint to loosen.

"I have to admit...my trust in them has been shaken."

The Dark Lord did not miss the intoxicating rush of power that came with that confession.

It might have been missed by anyone lesser than he; and _he_ the supreme actor, played his part—his face solemn and resigned as he continued.

"Why?"

The words _his_ puppet could not speak were roaring in the tempest within.

"They asked you to do something that made you feel dishonest didn't they."

In later years, Darth Sidious would contemplate on how such silence had never been so loud—a chorus that had nothing to do with the performance in the arena before them.

"They asked you to spy on me, didn't they?" he said with that gentle, paternal smile.

* * *

"I...don't know what to say," mumbled the puppet, unaware that he was already being made to dance on strings.

"Do you recall how as a young boy," the Chancellor said, leaning away from the young Jedi seemingly to get more comfortable within his seat, "when you first came to this planet...that I tried to teach you the ins and outs of politics?"

Relieved, the puppet said with a faint smile, "I remember that I didn't care for those lessons."

"For _any_ lessons, as I recall. But it's a pity; you should have paid more attention...to understand politics is to understand the fundamental nature of thinking beings. Right now, you should remember one of my first teachings: all those who gain power are afraid to lose it."

The Sith Lord paused a while for effect; as if on cue, the Mon Cal performance had a sudden high note, and scarlet flashed all about the arena to be awed at.

"Even the Jedi."

"The Jedi use their power for good," Anakin Skywalker mumbled.

He did not miss the way the younger man's voice shook ever so slightly even as he said the words.

 _Yes!_ That _is the way..._

He smiled in his mind with sinister purpose, even though his face was calm, even contemplative as he pretended to behold the escalating performance of the opera.

"'Good' is a point of view, Anakin. The Sith and the Jedi are similar in almost every way—including their quest for greater power."

"The Sith rely on their passion for their strength," the young Jedi blurted out.

The Chancellor had to repress a snort from hearing that.

But every good performance needed some comedy, so he continued to play his part and listened even as certain memories began to drift into his mind.

His thoughts then spoke in a voice that was not his own.

' _Remember why the Sith are more powerful than the Jedi, Sidious: because we are not afraid to_ feel... _'_

A long, dead voice which nonetheless continued to inspire him from beyond the grave.

The young Jedi was oblivious as ever, "They think inwards, only about themselves."

Even as the powerful young Jedi said the words, Lord Sidious mused that Anakin might as well have had tattooed the word 'doubt' across his face.

Again his thoughts rang with that old voice, and he mentally repressed a shudder, remembering that cold, grueling day when he was still learning about the true essence of power.

' _I am_ your _torturer, Sidious. Soon you will make every effort to appease me, and with each lie you tell, with each attempt you make to reverse our roles, you will make yourself as shiny as an aurodium coin to the dark side...'_

That wisdom was reflected in his quaint reply to the young man.

"And the Jedi don't?"

"The Jedi are selfless. They only care about others."

Again the voice beyond space, time, life and death answered in rebuttal.

' _Who gives more shape to sentient history: the_ good _, who adhere to the tried and true, or those who seek to rouse beings from their stupor and lead them to glory?'_

Indeed, Sidious reflected.

The lights dimmed again; the dancers and chorus slowed, an eerie calm settling while the audience applauded.

' _Any Sith can feign compassion and self-righteousness and master the Jedi arts, but only one in a thousand Jedi could ever become a Sith...'_

That applause, in his opinion was well timed if not wrongly directed. The action in their two man play was rising. A question loomed— _was Anakin Skywalker that_ one _Jedi?_

That small reflection came with an idea; a suggestion from the very depths of the dark side of the Force.

So simple, and yet so _perfect_ that even he marvelled at its brilliance.

* * *

"Did you ever hear of _The_ _Tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise_?"

"No..."

"I thought not. It's not a story the Jedi would tell you. It is a Sith legend. Darth Plagueis was a Dark Lord of the Sith, so powerful and so _wise_ he could use the Force to influence the midi-chlorians to create... _life_. _"_

The young Jedi stiffened, his eyes suddenly alert as if unable to believe what he was hearing.

"He had such a knowledge of the dark side—he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying."

As he spun his tale, the Sith Lord recalled vividly of the day many years before—how _awestruck_ he was —when he beheld a Sith pretender being killed and then brought back from the dead over and over again until the being whom the voice in his head belonged to had allowed that one-time rival to die.

"He could actually...save people _from death?_ " came Anakin Skywalker's reply, his breathing harsh then, just as the show of lights from the opera began to speed up again.

The action was mounting in the Force as well...and it pleased the Sith Lord.

"The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural."

The lights of the performance flashed, and Sidious saw the inferno he had set decades before on the conniving Gran which had made the egregious mistake of playing against him and his master.

Skywalker breathed, "What happened to him?"

The chorus of the opera grew stronger, as did the hunger within the Jedi Knight, both rumbling and building as if a thunderstorm.

"He became so powerful that the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power which eventually, of course, he did."

The Sith Lord reflected on the fateful night he had followed Plagueis into that penthouse. In his more pensive moments he had pondered whether or not it was destiny or fate or the Force that had brought him there.

"Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew..."

As he spoke, Palpatine genuinely smiled—one with the Force, one with his recollections, and now, he was sure, one with _his_ prize—just as it had been decades before.

 _He was alone and in a drunken stupor..._

"...then his apprentice killed him in his sleep,"

The Mon Calamari ballet grew ever stronger, the chorus mounting as if wanting to let the whole universe hear them, the lights ever faster and ever more intricate as to reflect the dizzying torrent of memories and power on the eve of his victory...

Sidious smirked in malice and nostalgia, "Ironic...he could save others from death..."

 _His wrath exploding as a storm of lightning on his victim..._

 _His intoxication from the old Sith Lord's agony and from his_ own _catharsis..._

 _His wordless vengeance on the being who was both mentor and tormentor..._

 _His cruel amusement when the elder Sith attempted to keep his tenuous hold on life..._

 _His satisfaction in the knowledge that he had successfully deceived one so powerful and so wise..._

"...but not _himself_."

As the Dark Lord spoke, the performances in the mundane world and that in the Force grew and grew in tandem until each was indistinguishable from the other.

A veritable chorus of sheer _power._

Ever rising, ever mounting; aiming to reach the _highest_ note.

Once more, countless voices sang to seemingly proclaim his reign.

Voices far older and darker than even the one that had forged him into a sovereign—the _only_ sovereign the galaxy would ever need.

In the stage that was the realm of the Force, he exalted in his apotheosis just as the performers below exalted in their crescendo.

A true master to the end, Darth Sidious' face showed nothing to suggest something extraordinary had taken place.

That the entire axis of the universe had shifted inexorably; breaking and bowing under his iron will.

"Is it...possible to learn this power?" piped the trembling voice of Anakin Skywalker over the deafening applause of the audience.

The last Dark Lord of the Sith turned his head slowly and regarded his puppet and soon-to-be pupil with a smile that spoke of gentle wisdom.

It was all he could do without standing up himself and proudly taking a bow.

"Not from a Jedi."


End file.
